


SBBC Thank You Collection for Artbylexie

by MizJoely



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Sherlolly - Freeform, domestic!lock, married sherlolly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 13:44:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 10,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5458589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ficlets, drabbles and artwork by participants in the 2015 Sherlolly Big Bang Challenge, in appreciation for all the hard work done by artbylexie to make it happen. Not everyone was able to contribute to this, but the thanks comes from everyone participating in the Big Bang Challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. sinnerwoman86

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amalia Kensington (amaliak01)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaliak01/gifts).




	2. darnedchild

 

**Wouldn't Miss It**

by Darnedchild

Sherlock froze in the door way to his flat.  Normally when he came home this late at night (nearly morning, honestly), all the lights would be off.  Molly wouldn't get up for several more hours; and, if he was particularly lucky, he'd wake up when her alarm went off and he'd be able to convince her to spend an extra fifteen minutes catching up and cuddling. 

Not that he would ever call it cuddling out loud, but that's what it was.  He relished that rare, stolen quarter of an hour with his wife. 

But tonight the overhead light in the kitchen was burning bright.  Sherlock cautiously eased around the corner, prepared for the worst or possibly Molly indulging in a cup of warm milk to help her get back to sleep.

The kitchen was empty.  No burglar and no wife.

There was, however, a folded piece of white paper leaning against the side of his microscope, his name written on it in Molly's small, precise handwriting.

For one terrible second he feared the worst.  Then he took a deep breath and pushed that old fear away.  The fear that she'd come to her senses and realize he wasn't good enough for her, normal enough.  It had weighed heavily on his mind when they'd first become a couple.  Long before the "I love you's" and the "I do's".  It rarely bothered him now, but surely he could be forgiven for a split-second of doubt in the middle of the night with an ominous note practically spotlighted by the overhead waiting for him.

He slowly reached out and took the paper, absently noted that there was nothing written on the outside other than his name, and opened it.

It took him a long moment to understand what he was seeing.  It was obviously the results of some sort of blood test, and Molly's name was right at the top.  He frantically ran through his mind palace, skidding to a stop in front of a room devoted to a small medical library, and quickly scanned through the catalogue until he found a reference to what he was looking for.

The paper fluttered out of his fingers and he didn't even notice.  He didn't notice Molly silently pad into the kitchen from the bedroom.  Didn't notice her fill the kettle with water and put it on to boil. 

He did, eventually, notice when she picked the paper up and set it on the table in front of him.

"Are you sure?"

"That I'm pregnant?  Yeah.  I went to the clinic John works at and Mary fit me in.  She put a rush on the test, too, otherwise it would have been tomorrow or the day after before I found out."  She bit her lip and waited, trying to read him in the way only she had ever been able to do.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

Molly looked away for a moment, her fingers nervously playing with the hem of her vest.  "We've been trying for so long and nothing, and I just . . . I wanted to be sure before I got your hopes up."  She peered up at him, waiting for his reaction.

Sherlock grinned, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her as if his very life depended on it.  A long moment later, when they finally broke apart, he pressed his forehead against hers and smiled at his wife and soon-to-be mother of his child.  "How far along?"

Molly grinned back, happiness making her absurdly radiant considering it was four in the morning and she'd probably been tossing and turning all night while she waited for him to come home.  "Mary couldn't be certain but she thinks six weeks at least.  She wants me to come back on Friday and she'll get me in to see the woman who handled her pregnancy.  She recommended a sonogram to help narrow down a due date.  If you don't have a case, would you like to come with me?"

"I'm coming regardless.  I wouldn't miss it, even for a ten."


	3. sherlolly29

 


	4. TheSapphireSky

**A Snowy Adventure**

**TheSapphireSky**  

 

‘Why are we doing this? We _never_ do this.’

‘Oh, quit your complaining. Now will you please _move,_ you big tree!’ Molly huffed and continued her thus-far-fruitless efforts to push him toward the door, her hands planted on his broad chest.

Sherlock smiled fondly down at his wife, easily standing his ground against her force. Her eyes were bright with excitement and her body literally bundled in a swath of mismatched colours: pink gloves, a scarf that looked like it had every color in it somewhere, a turquoise beanie cap with bobbles, and a yellow pea coat.

‘Oh, Sherlock, just give in already,’ Mycroft drawled as he passed by on his way to the kitchen. ‘We all know you’ll cave eventually. Why should the rest of us suffer listening to the two of you in the meantime?’

‘Stop it, Mycroft!’ Mummy called from the kitchen. ‘And Sherlock, you’d best do as Molly asks. Speaking from experience, us wives have a way of making you husbands regret stubbornness.’

Sighing, Sherlock relented. ‘Very well.’ Molly beamed up at him and he somewhat grudgingly allowed her to playfully push him out the door into the snow. Wrinkling his nose at the powder, he flipped his collar up.

‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ He turned to ask her. ‘Wouldn’t you much rather be inside, by the fire, maybe getting a foot massage or drinking hot cocoa with Mummy?’

Molly shook her head with a great big grin and grabbed his hand. ‘Nope. C’mon!’

\------------------------------

‘This is such a bad idea.’ Sherlock grumbled.

Molly reached back and patted his cheek. ‘Hush you.’

‘I’m just grateful John and Mary aren’t here to witness this.’ He tightened his hold on Molly, pulling her back against his chest and bracing his feet against the carved holds on the front of the wood sled.

‘Ready?’ She asked, winding her arms through the leather harness.

Sherlock felt a shiver of excitement race down his spine as he surveyed the rolling snow-covered hill in front of them that abruptly turned into a 75 degree drop. ‘No, but I doubt that will make a difference to you.’

Her laughter warmed him, despite the freezing air around them.

‘On three. Ready? One…’ They shifted forward, the sled moving barely an inch.

‘Two…’ They did it again, the steel runners slipping through the snow and propelling them forward a foot.

Taking a deep breath, Sherlock reached behind him and pushed hard off the ground just as Molly shouted, _‘Three_!’

The runners slid through the snow like a hot knife through butter and they slowly began gaining momentum, the edge of the sharp drop-off coming closer.

‘Aaaaaaaaah!’ Molly screamed as the sled careened down the hill. Snow flew up all around them, hitting them in the face. Sherlock wrapped his arms tighter around her waist as a thousand deductions flew through his mind, each a different way they could die on this sled.

The drop off was coming closer and at their increasing speed, the would be airborne by his calculations for at least five full seconds.

‘Here we go!’ Molly shouted and leaned back against him just as the sled hit the edge. Sherlock felt his heart stop. Suspended in the air, before them stretched out rolling hills and snow-covered trees, the only sound the blood rushing past his ears and a distant yelling.

Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

They hit the ground with a teeth-jarring thud. ‘Woo-hoo-hoo!’ Molly screamed in delight as they slipped and slid down the hill.

The bottom of the hill was approaching rapidly. Sherlock eyed the small river winding between the hills and a quick calculation of the distance to the embankment and their rate of speed was worrisome.

‘Molly,’ he shouted over her laughter. ‘Molly!’

‘What?!’

He pointed toward the river, his arm shaking from the jostling ride, and she followed his line of sight. ‘We’re going too fast! We won’t be able to stop!’

They hit the bottom of the hill and without warning, Molly jerked the harness sharply to the right. Though he would adamantly deny it until the day he died, Sherlock screamed as the sled tilted onto one runner, sluicing through the snow with still alarming speed.

Molly laughed and pulled the reins to the left. They hit a bump and the sled tipped over, sending them both rolling into the snow.

Laying sprawled in a snowbank, Sherlock stared up at the sky, trying to calm his racing heart. From somewhere to his right, Molly called out, ‘Are you okay?’

He pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked over at her. Completely covered in snow, she peeked over at him from a Molly-shaped hole in the snow.

‘Can we do it again?’


	5. kendrapendragon

KendraPendragon

The door shut with a click, announcing that they were finally alone again. Sherlock loved having his son, wife and children over, naturally, but they had hogged his wife the whole day, chatted with her and made her laugh and brought her whatever she needed before he, her husband, even got a chance to stand up.

‘Don’t worry, dad, we’ve got it.’

‘Don’t worry, dad, I’ll get Molly the glass.’

‘Don’t worry, grandpa, I already have the second pillow right here.’

‘Oh, don’t get up Sherlock, I’ll make dinner. You’ve done enough. I’m sorry the children are so loud.’

Pah!

Who did they think he was?!

He might be old, but not that old! He wasn’t the one with the bad hip…well, neither was her anymore.

Sherlock climbed the stairs and into the living room, looking at his wife sitting on the couch. She smiled at the book in her hand, a rare edition of ‘De humani corporis fabrica’ written by the 16th century anatomist Andreas Vesalius. Sherlock had to admit this idea for a gift had been genius. He would praise Cyril for it later – when he wasn’t pouting anymore.

“Can you believe this? How much time and money they must have spent to find this. And all because of my little hip surgery. They really shouldn’t have.”

“That’s not what you told them”, Sherlock commented while he tidied their living room a bit.

“I didn’t have the heart. They looked so proud.”

Her giggle followed him into the kitchen and his mouth twitched into a smile. Even after 26 years of marriage her laugh still had the power to lighten his mood.

When he turned to the living room, his mood darkened again, though. Molly was standing in front of the book shelf, apparently looking for something.

Their eyes met.

“I’m fine”, she said before he got the chance to scold her. “Seriously, hip surgery is not a bid deal anymore.”

"Still, the doctor said to rest the hip for a couple of days.”

“Yeah, well, the doctor is John and you made him say it.”

His eyes widened.

Molly laughed and shook her head, the short white hair bouncing.

“John is a bad liar, love. You should have asked Mary.”

“I really should have”, he mumbled and mentally kicked himself for forgetting that his best friend was useless when it came to lying.

She winked at him and pulled one of her old medical books out of the shelf. He watched her walk back to the couch and he had to admit, she walked better than he had seen in months. Relief spread in his chest and warmed him, finally chasing the cold spot of worry out of his heart.

Molly was fine.

The months of pain and worry were over. She was up and cheerful, his beautiful, clever wife. His Molly…

Sentiment getting the better of him he turned on some music with the elegant black wristband that controlled all electronic household devices. It made his wife look up. He could hold out his hand to her.

A smile spread on her lips.

“What are you doing?”

“You said you were fine. I want proof.”

With a playful sigh Molly placed the books on the couch and took his hand. Sherlock pulled her up and right into his arms.

“You know, in all these years I put up with you, you’ve never asked me to dance with you. You’ve always come up with some ridiculous excuse to make it happen.”

With a boyish smile he began to slowly waltz them through the room.

“They weren’t all ridiculous”, he commented and pulled his wife a bit closer.

They moved slowly, hands intertwined. Sherlock caressed the back of Molly’s little hand with his long fingers.

“At our wedding you said you had to try out if the shoes were slippery.”

“And they were, weren’t they?”

She giggled and his heart did a little flip.

“Yes.”

She beamed up at him. While they danced to a melancholic piano piece, both went back in time and remembered their wedding, that beautiful night when they danced as husband and wife for the very first time, to one of Sherlock’s original compositions. To this day there was no song in the world which Molly loved more. It was their song, written by his hand, every note singing the love Sherlock felt in his heart but so rarely spoke of.

Well, he didn’t have to. Not anymore. Those years of insecurity were long over. Molly trusted him fully, in every regard. Her heart was in his hands and he treated it with such care and devotion it often took her breath away. Like today, when he had surprised her with a family gathering to celebrate her coming home from the hospital. And the last half year, when her hip had gotten worse and worse, he had been so wonderfully attentive. She had seen the worry and the pain in his eyes when she winced from a movement; it made her wonder about how very far they had come. 

Once they had been nothing but two people who occasionally got thrown in each other’s way. Those days seemed to be memories from another life, that distant and unreal did they feel now.

When she looked at him now there was a whole different man in her arms. A man she loved with every fiber of her heart and who loved her just as much.

Sometimes, like right now, Molly was overwhelmed with emotions just from looking at him. She was so happy with him. She had had no idea a person could be this complete, so at peace with everything.

Molly snuggled against her husband and breathed in his scent, felt his warmth wrap around and protect her.

Below his chest his heart beat strong and proud and very carefully she blew a little kiss on top of it.

The song changed, one slow melody to an even softer one, and Molly felt Sherlock’s fingers in her hair and his lips brush against her forehead.

“I love you, Molly.”

Her heart jumped with joy and due to her ear pressed against Sherlock’s chest she could hear that his heart did, too.

Molly lifted her head and looked up at her husband, still the most beautiful man she had ever seen, his hair as white as hers, wrinkles on his forehead and between his eyebrows, but also around his eyes and the corners of his lips. She loved those lines. She had helped create them, making him smile and laugh countless of times.

Raising a hand she gently cupped his cheek and caressed his soft skin with her thumb.

“I love you, too, Sherlock. So much.”

To her surprise he hugged her then, burying his head in her neck. She giggled when his nose tickled her skin.

Sherlock pressed a soft kiss on her sensitive spot before he smiled down at her and kissed her on the lips.

Then he pulled her close again and she rested her head on his chest once more.

They continued to dance long after the sun had set, leaving them in complete darkness. Neither of them minded. Everything they needed was right there in their arms.


	6. o0katiekins0o

 


	7. bkst-tutu1b

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yellow and pinks for Molly, and purples for Sherlock are united =married in a bouquet.


	8. lavender-lily

 


	9. consulting-pathologist

Title: Irish Karaoke

Author: consultingpathologist (AO3)

Summary: The story behind a honeymoon photograph involving Sherlock Holmes, a jumper, and a bit too much whiskey.

*****

“Okay,” Mary choked out after her burst of laughter sounded from across the room. “I _know_ there’s got to be a good story behind this one.” She spun the laptop around for Molly who had just walked into the room carrying a tea tray.

Molly gasped when she saw the picture on the screen. “Oh dear.” She set the tray down in front of Mary and took a closer look. “I forgot I left that one in there.”

John, who’d been talking to Sherlock by the fireplace, wandered over to the couch where Mary sat. “What is it?” he asked, accepting a teacup from Molly.

When Mary showed him the photo, he shook with laughter that nearly spilled his tea. Sitting down next to his wife, he squinted at the computer as though his eyes deceived him.

The picture behind their amusement was of a rosy-cheeked Sherlock wearing a thick, oversized cream-colored cabled jumper and plaid bottoms. His lips were pursed as though he was in the middle of singing along to a rather spirited tune. The nearly empty whiskey glass in his hand revealed the likely reason behind the whole scene.

Sherlock sighed at his friends from across the room. “So I see you’ve kept the evidence.”

Molly gave him a guilty look. “Sorry, honey. I didn’t even realize it uploaded with the rest of the photos.”

His eyes narrowed at her, but the attempt to feign anger failed as she continued to give him puppy eyes. A smile flickered at the corners of his mouth.

A noise from the bedroom momentarily interrupted the conversation. “Oh no. After I’d just gotten her to sleep.” Mary sighed and left the room to go check on sixteen-month-old Lucy.

Molly walked over to her husband and handed him a teacup and chocolate biscuits as penitence. “You have to admit though Sherlock, it’s a cute picture,” she said with a shrug.

“Hmm, _cute_.” He raised an eyebrow at her.

“False alarm,” Mary announced as she reentered the room and sat back down next to her husband. “Okay, you two, I need to hear this story. Anything that involves Sherlock and singing is something I need to know about.”

Molly thought for a moment as she recalled the memory. “Well, I have to go back a ways. You see it all started when we got lost…”

*****

“Do you have any idea where we are?” Molly asked looking up from the map that rested in her lap. The window had fogged over with condensation and she used her sleeve to wipe it away though it did little to help the visibility.

“About 90 miles west of Dublin judging from how long we’ve been driving,” Sherlock calculated as he gripped the steering wheel tightly while trying to maneuver the car in the driving rain.

“Except we stopped at that one hill for a bit so you could study the rock formation.” Molly squinted, trying to make out any landmarks that would give hints to their location. “I can hardly see a thing in this rain and none of these roads seem to be on this map.”

“Did you try your phone again?” he asked not taking his eyes off the road.

She pulled her mobile out of her pocket and held her breath as she swiped the screen but it was to no avail. No bars. “Nope. Still nothing. If only we—”

A sudden series of jerking motions cut her off. Sherlock managed to pull the car to the side of the road but only just before it came to an abrupt halt.

They both froze.

“No. That did not just... _No_ ,” Molly said slowly breaking the silence. She turned to Sherlock who looked as utterly clueless as she did as to what to do next.

“I believe our car has just died,” he said softly.

“You know how to fix this, right? I mean there’s probably something in that mind palace of yours about how to fix an engine.” Her hope was quickly dashed as he sheepishly turned away. “Sherlock...”

“It’s not a science that I often study since I don’t have to deal with—”

“Oh, Sherlock,” she interrupted, shaking her head. “So let me get this straight. We are in the middle-of-nowhere Ireland with a broken-down car that we have no clue how to fix. It’s pouring rain with no signs of stopping. We have no signal on our phones and there does not seem to be another human being within twenty miles of here.”

“That would be an accurate description of our circumstance, yes.”

The ridiculousness of their situation caused Molly to break into a fit of giggles. “This would happen on our honeymoon.”

“Sex holid—”

“Don’t you dare,” she ordered with mock seriousness causing him to join in her laughter. “I should have known that something would happen. Things were going too well. We were due for some sort of crisis.”

“Perhaps I’ll just pop put and take a look,” Sherlock suggested, wrapping his scarf tightly around his neck.

“You can’t go out in this storm,” she argued. Her concern only grew as she looked out the windscreen and saw the sky darkening.

“Well, we can’t stay out here all night.” When he saw the worry on her face, he kissed her forehead gently. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Naturally the rain started to fall harder as soon as he stepped out the door. She watched his bleary dark form trudge to the front of the car and lift the bonnet to inspect the damage.

After several minutes of hearing him tinkering around without any signs of success, she sighed and drew her coat tightly around her before joining him in the downpour.

“Well? Any luck?” She had to shout to be heard over the pounding rain.

“I’ve managed to determine it’s a 1980 Fiat and that the engine has been replaced twice already.”

“And?” she asked hopefully.

“And I’m pretty sure that I don’t have the parts required to fix even if I did know how.”

“So we’re stranded.”

He grimaced and nodded.

They both hurriedly got back into the car thoroughly drenched and without anything to show for it.

“So what now?” Molly asked as she wrung the water out of her ponytail.

They sat thinking for a moment when Sherlock suddenly turned towards her with a devilish look in his eye. “Well, since we’re all alone out here…”

“No. I know what you’re thinking. But there is no way in this tiny car when you’re soaking and smell like a wet dog.”

He sniffed the damp sleeve of his coat and frowned. “Sheep more likely. It was worth a shot.”

“You’ve been doing quite fine, Mr. _Sex Holiday_.”

Turning back toward the window, she noticed headlights in the distance and gasped. “Sherlock, look.”

They got out of the car and flagged down the beat-up pickup truck.

“What seems to be the trouble?” The older man behind the wheel spoke in a thick accent. He seemed to be completely unfazed by the dreary conditions and smiled cheerfully at them with a pipe hanging out the corner of his mouth.

“We broke down and our mobiles aren’t working,” Sherlock answered matter-of-factly pointing at the car.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a phone we could use by any chance?” Molly pleaded.

“Back at the farm, but I doubt you can get anybody out here to fix it before tomorrow,” the man answered sending a puff of smoke out the window.

“Oh dear,” Molly groaned as she wiped the water pouring down the side of her cheek.

“Why don’t you get in and come along? You can stay with me and the missus tonight. We’ve got plenty of room.” Before they could answer the man opened the door and motioned for them to get inside.

Molly hesitated. “We hate to inconvenience you—”

“Nonsense. ‘Tis no trouble at all.”

Seeing as the man likely wouldn’t take no for an answer and that they had no other alternatives, Molly nodded to Sherlock to fetch their luggage out of the car.

“Thank you so much. This is so kind of you really,” Molly said as she clumsily climbed into the cab followed by Sherlock. “I’m Molly and this is my husband, Sherlock.”

“Name’s Colin Finnegan. Pleased to meet ya.” He tipped his cap at them before continuing to drive down the road. “So what brings you to this part of Ireland?”

“We’re on our Se—”

“Honeymoon,” Molly said interrupting before Sherlock could finish. “We, uh, got kind of lost. We’re on our way to Galway and decided to take a few scenic routes and somehow we ended up here.”

“Aye. We see a lot of travelers get lost in these parts. Probably time to update the signs,” Colin said with a chuckle.

After another mile on the winding road, they finally pulled up in front of a moderate sized cottage farmhouse just as the rain stopped.

As they climbed out of the truck, Sherlock grabbed for the luggage but the older gentlemen was quicker and insisted on carrying it for his guests.

“Kathleen, we’ve got company,” he called out as the entered the house and set the bags on the floor.

“Who is it, Colin?” A petite older woman wearing an apron entered the room and smiled kindly when she laid eyes on Sherlock and Molly.

“They’re honeymooners,” Colin said to his wife with a wiggle of his eyebrows. “Had a wee bit of car trouble so they’re staying with us tonight. I’ll call Duncan and have him come out to take a look at your car.” He exited the room to use the telephone.

Molly smiled at Kathleen and made introductions.

“It’s lovely to have you. We don’t get visitors very often. Not since our children moved out.”

Sherlock, who had been studying the room carefully, spoke suddenly. “Two daughters, one son. Correct?”

Kathleen laughed in surprise. “Why yes, as a matter of fact. My daughters—”

“Live in Dublin, but your son lives in London. You have five, no _six_ grandchildren.”

The older woman stared at him in amazed silence.

Molly gave her an apologetic look and wrapped her arm through Sherlock’s. “My husband’s a detective. He’s quite good at picking up small things like that.”

“Oh good. I thought for a minute that we might have been introduced already. I was worried I was beginning to lose my mind,” she laughed good-naturedly, shaking her head.

“Sorry we’re just a tad bit soaked,” Molly said looking down at her feet. “I hope we aren’t ruining your rug.”

“Not at all. Come in, come in. Where are my manners? Let me take your coats. I’ll put ‘em near the fire to dry out.”

Molly and Sherlock slipped off their coats and Kathleen gasped when she saw that their clothing underneath was even wet.

“Oh you poor dears. You did get some rain, didn’t you? We must get you into some dry clothes. Why don’t you both have a bath first and warm yourselves up.”

“That would be lovely, thank you,” Molly said gratefully.

“I’ll fetch some of my son’s old clothes. The bedroom is at the top of the stairs on the left, bathroom’s right next to it. I’ll be up shortly.”

Molly led the way up the narrow stairs with Sherlock having to stoop behind her to avoid hitting his head.

“You go first,” Molly said shoving him towards the bathroom. “You were out in the rain the longest.”

“We could go together and save time,” he said in a low voice.

But when they peered into the bathroom and saw only a tiny clawfoot tub, it wiped away any chance of his seductive plans.

“I think you’re going to have enough trouble fitting your legs in that thing on your own,” Molly said with a laugh.

As Sherlock bathed, Molly unpacked their suitcases and found most of their clothes to be slightly damp. Luckily for them, Kathleen knocked at the door and entered the room with her arms full of woolens. “I’ve brought you some clothes and some extra blankets. No one ever goes cold in this house.”

Molly thanked her and held in a laugh until the woman headed back downstairs.

There were two pairs of matching oversized wool jumpers and brightly colored plaid flannel pyjama bottoms. When Sherlock entered the room with a towel wrapped precariously around his waist, Molly pointed to the clothes and giggled. He raised eyebrows at first until he saw their wet clothes and then shrugged nonchalantly.

Molly was still giggling as she headed to the bath. When she reentered the bedroom afterwards, she found a jumper-clad Sherlock sitting stoically on the bed, trying to maintain his normal serious countenance but failing miserably under the circumstances.

“You know it is quite warm, I’ll give it that,” he said with a straight face causing her to burst into laughter again. However as she got dressed herself, she found herself agreeing with him and thankful to at last be warm and dry.

Hand-in-hand they headed back downstairs in their ridiculous matching outfits with heads held high. Their hosts were just putting dinner on the table.

“Lucky for you both I had a roast in the oven,” Kathleen said with a broad smile. “Have a seat. I hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving,” Sherlock said with his mouth practically watering as Molly nodded in agreement. She’d noticed that he’d been eating almost double his normal amount during the trip.

After a delicious dinner, they all collapsed with full stomachs onto the couches in front of the fireplace.

“Whiskey?” Colin asked holding out a glass to his guests.

After the day they’d had, Sherlock and Molly both accepted the drinks eagerly.

At some point during the fireside conversation, Colin got out his fiddle and began playing a variety of old Irish folk tunes. Sherlock, who at this point was on his third glass of alcohol, recognized one of the songs and stumbled over to Colin to join in singing on the verses.

Molly, slightly stunned at not knowing that her husband could sing much less knew the words to folk songs, shared a look with an amused Kathleen who clapped along. Not wanting to miss the opportunity, she pulled out her phone and snapped a quick picture for posterity. When he’d finished his third song, Sherlock stumbled back to the couch looking like he might fall asleep right then and there.

“Careful, honey,” she said when he leaned against her shoulder. “I know you don’t handle your alcohol well.”

“I’m f-fine,” he slurred before giving her a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

“You’ve got a keeper there,” Colin said raising his glass to Molly making the three more sober of the group laugh.

*****

 “And that’s how this photo happened,” Molly said finishing her story. She handed the laptop back to Mary. “When he woke up the next day, Sherlock had no memory of what had happened. I’d forgotten I’d even taken it until we got back.”

“I’m never drinking again,” Sherlock mumbled into his cup.

John snorted. “You said that after my stag night—and come to think of it after yours too.”

“Well, this time I mean it,” Sherlock said sharply to his friend.

“You got a great story out of it though,” Mary said as she scrolled through the rest of their pictures. “Anyways what matters most is that overall you had a great honeymoon.”

“That we did,” Molly said looking warmly at Sherlock.

“Agreed,” Sherlock said as he stood and walked over to Molly to give her a kiss. “And it only gets better.”

With a wink at his new bride, he picked up his violin from the table and softly began playing the opening notes of one of the old Irish jigs.


	10. writingwife83

“It’s just weird, Mary,” Molly insisted as she nervously played with her tea cup in its saucer. “I know when he’s not being honest by now, and I can tell he’s absolutely hiding something from me!”

“Well, I believe you,” Mary said, reaching over and giving her friend’s hand a comforting squeeze. “”I really do. Trust me, I know when Sherlock’s lying too, and I think you’re right from what you’ve described. But I don’t know, Molly, I can’t imagine it’s anything bad.”

Molly sighed and her brow furrowed in worry. “I know. I mean, I don’t think he’s having an affair or anything. That’s just…not Sherlock. But what if he’s protecting me, but he’s putting himself in danger in the process? And he doesn’t want to tell me anything because he knows I’ll be mad!”

Mary smiled at Molly. “I think you’re working yourself up a bit. I’m not typically against some good old undercover work, but in this case…don’t you think you should just talk to him?”

“I suppose. I just wanted to talk you and get your opinion I suppose. I’ve never been worried about this kind of thing with Sherlock before, so it threw me. We’ve been married almost three years now and I’ve never questioned him like this before. And especially _now…_ it’s just frustrating.” Molly chewed her lip and moved her gaze away from Mary and into her steaming tea.

Mary frowned. “What do you mean, especially now?”

Molly looked a little nervous and smiled shyly at Mary. “Well…don’t tell anyone! But I’ve sort of been thinking about asking Sherlock if he’d like to…maybe…possibly…try for a baby.” She grimaced with the weight of the confession.

Mary covered her mouth to conceal the squeal of delight since they were in a coffee shop. “Molly, that’s amazing! And I’m sure Sherlock would be thrilled!”

Molly’s face fell a bit. “I thought so too, but now I’m getting nervous again. He’s just so…weird lately,” she repeated.

Mary reached over and took both Molly’s hands firmly. “Listen to me,” she said, looking her straight in the eye. “Whatever’s going on is going to be fine. You and Sherlock will be fine! He loves you and would do anything for you and this marriage. Just _talk to him!_ ”

Molly nodded and took a deep breath. “Ok. You’re right. I’ll just…I’ll talk to him tonight.”

Mary gave her a little wink. “Good girl.”

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

Molly sat up reading in bed and could barely concentrate on the pages of her book. Sherlock puttered around for a while and finally wandered into the bedroom, removing his dressing gown and climbing into bed next to his wife. He scooted over for a split second and planted a kiss to her cheek before snuggling against his pillow and clicking away on his mobile.

Molly glanced over and finally set her book down. “Um…Sherlock?”

"Hm?"

“I think we should…talk.”

He glanced over for a moment before looking at his phone again as he answered. “What about?”

“Well, I wanted to tell you something but…well I feel like there’s something else we should take care of first.” She still wasn’t getting much of his attention, so she went right for the kill. “Sherlock, I think you’re hiding something from me.”

Sherlock’s eyes shot over to her and his hands dropped to his lap, his mobile finally forgotten. “You think that, do you?” he asked, expression a bit unreadable.

Molly nodded, nervously playing with the coverlet between her fingers. “Look, whatever it is, you can tell me. I promise! I won’t be mad. I just…I need to know. I want us to be honest with each other. And if something is going on, I should know about it. I should be included. And I want to be honest with you about some things as well, but I feel like this needs to come first.” She finally took a deep breath, having said what was needed.

Sherlock let out a short laugh. “Well, this is a bit of a surprise. I suppose I underestimated you, though I should know better by now. And you’re right…I have been hiding something from you. Perhaps you’d be willing to take a drive with me tomorrow and I can finally tell you the whole truth?” he asked seriously.

Molly felt almost more nervous now. _Oh God, what has he gotten himself into?_ “Of course! But…you can’t just tell me now?” She reached over and grasped his hand.

Sherlock smiled and brought her hand up to kiss it. “Sorry, but no. It has to be this way.”

Molly nodded. “Ok. Tomorrow then.”

It was a restless night for Molly Holmes, and she was comforted only by the fact that by this time tomorrow she would know whatever it was they were dealing with and be able to face it head on.

Sherlock, on the other hand, slept like a baby while wearing a smile.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Molly wrung her hands in the passenger seat of the car. Sherlock drove along the country roads and actually seemed rather at ease.

“It’s nice Mycroft let you use one of his cars,” Molly mentioned, trying to distract herself with a little small talk.

“Mm, it’ll make for a more leisurely drive. No rush to get a cabbie back to the city and cut the cost.”

”I do wish you’d just tell me where we’re going,” Molly said for the fifth time.

“It’ll all become clear soon enough,” Sherlock said calmly; though he still wore a poker face that was driving her mad.

Molly sighed and decided to look out the window instead. She was lulled by the lovely countryside and scenery as they drove. Whatever Sherlock’s news was, at least she got to enjoy some lovely views along the way.

Finally, Sherlock pulled into a dirt path off the road. After a minute of driving along there, he stopped the car in front of a little grey cottage with white shutters.

“Is this a client’s house?” Molly asked.

Sherlock shook his head. “No, not exactly. Why don’t you get out and have a look?” He immediately exited the car, leaving Molly no choice but to follow.

She got out and looked around her at the sun and clouds casting shadows along the surrounding hills as the breeze blew her hair wildly around her. She looked toward the cottage and admired its location and simple elegant design.

“This is nice. Who are we going to see?” she asked, somehow feeling a bit more relaxed.

“Nobody,” Sherlock answered instantly.

“Nobody?”

“Mm. We’re just here to see the cottage.”

Molly looked around and lowered her voice a bit, despite them being alone. “Was this the scene of a murder?”

Sherlock chuckled. “Not that I know of, though that would be a rather fitting home for us, wouldn’t it?”

Molly frowned at him, looked at the house, and then looked back at him. “Wait…what do you mean, fitting for us?”

Sherlock began smiling just a bit as he dug in his pocket. He produced a little key and held it out to Molly. “I do hope it’s fitting for us…because it’s ours,” he said softly.

Molly’s jaw dropped as she stared at him and the key he held out. Her gaping mouth began to lift in a smile though, and she turned to look at the sweet little cottage again. “Sh-sherlock…is it really? This is ours?!”

He nodded, looking pleased with himself. “Bit of a find. It was a former client who sold it, so you were close on your first guess. I’ve been working on this for a couple of months now. I wanted to surprise you on our anniversary next month, once all the painting was finished inside, but you were a bit too perceptive. So…here we are now! Want to take a look inside?” He held the key closer to her.

Molly sputtered out an excited laugh. “I can’t believe this! And why in the world did you do it anyway?” she asked as they quickly made their way to the door.

“Well I’m certainly not looking to leave Baker St, but I did want a sort of…second option for certain occasions. Perhaps a holiday, or just when cases are slow. And perhaps, down the road…we could spend a bit more time here.”

“You mean like, when we’re older?” Molly asked as she unlocked and opened the door, gasping in delight at the lovely sunny rooms.

Sherlock strolled around with her as she excitedly began exploring. “Yes, perhaps when we’re older. But also in the next year or two, if we need a bit more peace and quiet at times.” They stopped at the bottom of the staircase and faced each other. “I thought perhaps this would be a good time for you to tell me what you’ve been thinking about.” He gave her a sneaky knowing smile.

Molly blushed and smiled back at him. “You know, don’t you?”

Sherlock shrugged. "I suppose neither of us was being quite as covert as we imagined.” He slid his arms around her waist and pulled her in close. “But it also seems we’re very much on the same page.”

"Y-you really want a family too? Are you sure?” Molly asked with an already excited expression.

“I’m sure I want one with you,” he said sincerely and leaned down to kiss her soundly, making them momentarily forget anything else but each other.

Molly pulled away and kissed his nose as she did. "Thank you, thank you, thank you a million times over. This is the most amazing surprise!”

“I did do well, didn’t I?” Sherlock said with a smirk. “Now! Care to see the upstairs? I should mention that I’ve already had a few pieces of furniture delivered, which hopefully I’ve chosen to your liking.”

Molly threaded her fingers through his as they climbed the stairs. “Oh really?” she asked, her voice a little playful. “Which pieces of furniture exactly? I’m rather keenly interested in seeing a particular one.”

Sherlock began rattling off, a bit unaware as they reached the top of the stairs. “Well, let’s see, I chose a nice wardrobe, and table and chairs set for the dining room and oh! I found an excellent sofa, though that’s not being delivered till next- oof!” He was cut short as Molly shoved him against the nearest wall and kissed him with shocking and delightful intensity.

She pulled away and looked at him with sparkling eyes. “I was talking about wanting to see our bed, you beautiful idiot.”

“Oh…oh!” Realization dawned on Sherlock and he finally wore a grin to match his wife’s. He picked her up bridal style, making her giggle, wasting no time once he’d caught up. “Thankfully, that is something I already had delivered! I do hope you like it. I made sure to consult with John and Mary.”

“What?!” Molly exclaimed. “John and Mary knew?!”

“I know enough not to make a decision like this _all_ on my own,” he scoffed as he set her down on the mattress.

“Mary is going to get it!” Molly said through laughter as she threw off her coat.

Sherlock joined her on the bed, unceremoniously flopping down as he also discarded his coat. He rolled over closer, leaning over her as he brushed some hair from her face, smiling down at her affectionately as he did. “There was just one more thing I wanted to check with you.” He pressed a warm and lingering kiss to the side of her neck.

"Mm, what's that?" Molly murmured, thinking that right about now her answer would be yes to just about anything.

“I was just wondering…” Sherlock whispered lazily as he left a trail of kisses along her neck and jawline. “How do you feel about bees?”

 

 

 

 

 


	11. noisymouse/rottenbrainstuff

 


	12. rebka18

 


	13. sherlollymouse

**Steady Hands**

Breaking her leg had been awful, but she would willingly endure the pain again if she didn’t have to deal with the length of the recovery. Molly Hooper was grateful to have her cast off, but she still had plenty more healing to do. All the time it had spent, secured in plaster, developing a bit of a smell and mending itself, the muscle had weakened and physical therapy wasn’t easy or enjoyable.

As a matter of fact, she had found herself having to consciously choose her crutches over her chair, but today, it was more convenient to take the chair,anyway. Cheery as always, her face masked the frustration and deflation she felt as she wheeled herself around the restaurant. It wouldn’t be so bad if there wasn’t dancing, but being there for John and Mary’s anniversary was important to her.

The entire evening she’d sat, dreading when the meal would be over, contemplating escape routes and excuses to sneak out. All the other guests quickly paired off to shuffle around, though, giving her a good cover. As she watched them, admiring some of the colorful dresses and lively skirts of the other girls, she didn’t expect to be approached, she was merely waiting to bolt.

“May I have this dance?”A familiar voice asked, offering his hand to her. A bit flustered at the source of the offer, her jaw dropped a little.

“I’m not much of a partner.” She smiled up at Sherlock, feeling the gentle hint of blush warm her cheeks as she gestured to her weakened leg.

“Nonsense,” He insisted. “Your leg just needs its strength back and it won’t unless you use it.”

“I’m not sure.” Calmly, he withdrew his hand.

“If you genuinely don’t want to dance, that’s fine, but, if it’s because of your leg…” Molly worried at her lower lip, hanging on his words. “I can hold you up. I won’t let you fall.” She thought for a moment before gently nodding and offering him her hand.

“Alright.” She whispered and his face lit up.

“Careful now.” Stepping in front of her, he readied himself to grip her close and hold her steady. As he lead her onto the floor, she swallow hard, digging her fingers into his arm a bit harder than she probably should have, but he didn’t seemed bothered by it at all. Her faint gasps were meant with silent pauses, making sure they weren’t cries of pain. When she was finally upright, hands wrapped around Sherlock’s neck like his scarf, he slowly began to sway them out onto the dance floor.

Molly couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable; so much of her weight was on him that she was only standing on her own two feet in appearance. He didn’t waiver though and his smile never left.

“Sorry.” She inhaled, sharply, as she stumbled and gripped at him tighter again.

“It’s fine, Molly, here.” As he assured her, his hand floated lower on her waist and she could feel the strength of his hand lift her onto her toes, taking up all her weight in the palm of his hand. Swallowing hard, their eyes met again and she returned his smile with a small one of her own. “If you’re uncomfortable, we can stop.” The truth was, she was uncomfortable, but not enough to want to stop. Her entire body was held up by the palm of his hand, emphasizing her size and she could feel a slight nausea stir in her stomach. Feeling inferior was not an emotion she relished, but she kept her smile and shook her head ‘no’. Her insecurities weren’t going to hold her back from enjoying feeling so light on her feet and so close him. The scent of his cologne was going to linger on this dress, she knew and she couldn’t help thinking about how, even after stripping herself of it to change that night, she would still smell like him. Molly wandered if he was thinking similar things about her perfume. If only she could read his mind.

Studying his face, for a brief moment, she thought, maybe, he was straining but,soon she realized that he was nervous, too. Maybe where she felt small, vulnerable and uncomfortable reconciling those emotions with her desire to enjoy his company, he was worrying about being able to keep his grip and worrying about making her feel the way she felt. It would be easy for her to shrink away and accept the physical support; keeping herself from having the fun she was having at that moment.

“Sherlock,” So caught up in her own insecurities, she hadn’t even thought to ask. “Why did you ask me to dance? I mean, you could have brought Janine or snuck out…” In the mood lighting of the restaurant, she could still manage to see the slight color of crimson that painted his ears.

“I – I like dancing and I know you’ve been having a hard time dealing with your injury…” The bob of his adam’s apple reveal his deep swallow and bashfulness. “I thought you might appreciate the opportunity to start doing normal things again.” He paused to sigh and purse his lips. “You seem…. distraught lately and I’m certain it’s because you’ve been confined to a wheelchair or crutches. You let them stop you and they shouldn’t.” Molly was taken aback. As good as he was deducing the world around him, he’d always held back with her… at least since the dreaded Christmas party years ago; rarely voicing or interfering with her or her life with them in his former, blunt manner.

“Oh…” It was her turn to blush faintly as his words, overwhelmed at the reassurance of her importance to him. “That’s kind of you. I didn’t think I was doing that, though.”

“Of course you weren’t.” The color seemed to finally subside from his ears as he tenderly held her gaze. “It’s a completely different lifestyle you’d never even thought about. Understandable that you would be uncertain of how to proceed. However, you’ll have your strength back soon and be standing on your own.” Molly’s heart fluttered as he spoke, soothing her frustration, pain and lack of patience with his words; they coated them like a healing balm and she allowed the toes of her stronger leg to rest upon his shoe, giving her feeble leg just the right amount of weight and tension. 

She wasn’t sure if she would ever have trouble standing on her own two feet again once she finished physical therapy, but no one knows their own future. Molly was, however, comforted to know, as she laid her head against his chest, that if the roots of her frame were ever again weakened by incident, age, or illness, she could always rely on his steady hands.


	14. asteraceaeblue

The first time Molly ‘cooked’ for Sherlock, it was an apology. She had no intention of the plate of food being taken seriously, she only hoped it would earn her a confused look or a laugh. Either would be better than the wounded way he’d looked at her when she yelled at him, overwhelmed by three days of twelve hour shifts, a few incredibly emotionally trying post-mortems, and at her wits end when she’d walked into the lab and seen the giant mess he’d made. A mess that, no doubt, she would be left to clean up, if he kept to his pattern.

There was dirty glassware everywhere, half of it filled with the congealed remnants of agar mixtures. He hadn’t thrown away a single plastic wrapping from the pipette tip boxes. The pipettes were put away – out of order. She could only hope that the chemicals strewn over the counters were all actually from the path lab and not borrowed from another floor.

“Is – is all of this from you?” she asked, exhausted, not even sure why she was bothering when she already knew the answer.

“There’s a chance other people were in here. I doubt they had room to do any work of their own,” he told her, adding another set of test tubes into a beaker of boiling water. Once they had settled, he stood up and reached for his jacket. “Watch that for me, will you? I need to go check on a source, should be gone for about two hours - ”

“No.”

He stopped with his arms halfway into his jacket and stared at her.

“You heard me,” she said, feeling so incredibly tired and for some reason on the verge of tears. “I said no. I’ve been here for over twelve hours, I’m about to drop, I just want to go home, Sherlock.”

“I suppose I could make it closer to an hour - ”

“No!” Molly cried, her hands balling into fists. “Not an hour, not even ten minutes! I’m not watching your experiment for you, I’m not cleaning this up for you. You’re a grown man, and I am not your mother. I’m going into the locker room, hanging up my coat, and I am going home! And this mess better be gone by the time you leave or you can bloody well find another lab to start working in!”

The doors might have slammed on her way out. A few choice words for him may have left her mouth while she was still in earshot. It was also possible she had kicked a stool, or at least her sore toe indicated things had gone that way.

After a hot bath, a change into her most comfortable pyjamas, and a cup of tea that left steam on her glasses, her fury cleared and she realized that she had really yelled at Sherlock. And called him a few things. He really hadn’t even done anything like that in months, he’d been trying so hard to be more considerate, and then she’d let her sleep deprived temper get the better of her for one infraction.

She groaned and dropped her head to her knees.

This required an apology. Hopefully something that would make him smile.

The next day, after sleeping in far longer than she normally did, she got up, showered, and dressed in an outfit that put her in a more cheerful mood. It took a moment of digging around in her freezer, but she found what she was looking for, dumping the contents of the plastic bag into a steamer and adding a bit of salt, pepper, and lemon. Ten minutes later, she had the whole thing package into a ceramic bowl and lid and was on her way to the tube station.

Mrs. Hudson let her in, telling her that Sherlock was home and enjoying a late breakfast upstairs.

Swallowing her pride, Molly made her way up the stairs and stepped quietly into the kitchen of 221B. Sherlock was sitting at the kitchen table, his eyes focused on the headlines of the day’s newspaper. It took him a moment to register her presence and her heart was thumping while she waited. Finally, his ice blue eyes flicked up and met hers.

Molly stepped forward and plunked the bowl on the table, removing the lid and pushing it towards him with her fingers. Sherlock frowned at her and looked down at the bowl.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Peas,” she offered, suddenly very self-conscious and worried that this wouldn’t work at all. It sounded rather stupid, now that she was actually doing it. “I’m offering you…peas. Sort of an apology, well, actually an apology for yesterday.”

He was silent as he looked back up at her.

She pointed towards the bowl.

“Peas offering,” she said lamely, shrugging. “I know what you’re thinking. ‘Don’t make jokes, Molly,’” she imitated his deep voice.

He laughed. It startled her so much that she froze, unsure of what to do. He actually laughed. She let out a relieved breath and smiled.

“Sit, Molly, have some breakfast, I can’t possibly eat all of this,” Sherlock said, standing up to fetch the teapot from its warmer on the counter. “Mrs. Hudson brings me far too much, you’d think there were eight people living in this flat. Did you happen to hear about the art theft in Cologne? Their only clue are footprints that disappear in the middle of the room, but the catch is that there is no possible escape through the ceiling…”

Molly continued to smile as he went on about the case, accepting his offer of tea and breakfast.

A few weeks later, it was Sherlock standing dejectedly outside her flat, takeaway in hand.

He’d blown up earlier in the day due to a source lying to him, wasting days of investigation and lab test that had led nowhere. The moment he’d received the text from Lestrade, informing him of the source’s arrest and subsequent confession, he’d thrown the nearest item at the wall. It just so happened that that item was an expensive set of serological pipettes, estimated cost one hundred pounds. Not the dearest thing the lab contained, but she would have to explain the expense nonetheless.

She knew it had nothing to do with her and his anger had never been directed at her in any way, but his temper was not a pleasant thing to behold.

Which was probably why he handed her two paper bags filled with curries, all the sides, and expensive wine.

“It’s not homemade,” he told her, sounding very apologetic. “But I’m fairly certain there are peas in the vegetable korma.”

Molly’s lips quirked to the side as she tried not to grin outright.

“Offering accepted,” she said, inviting him in to share the meal.

They went back and forth like that for three months, bringing small meals with a theme whenever something went wrong and tempers were lost.

She brought him sheppard’s pie and chicken casserole that she was almost sure he only ate when she was around. He brought her crab salad and chole saag from the best delis and restaurants in London. She shared more meals with Sherlock Holmes in three months than she had ever been aware he indulged in while working.

Then there was a case that came too close to home. A man accused of kidnapping and murder several times over and Molly had wound up in the middle. The man hadn’t made it far with her, the NSY had been right on his heels, but it was enough to make everyone realize how very close things had come to disaster.

A day later, after she’d calmed down and stopped jumping at every noise, Sherlock sent her a text requesting her presence at Baker Street. She went somewhat reluctantly, not feeling up for socializing or fetching him samples or looking at experiments.

The moment she walked in the door, she realized none of that had been in his plans. There was a cheerful fire going in the fireplace and candles were scattered throughout the flat, giving it a golden warmth. Sherlock was in the kitchen, trying to fit a bottle of white wine into a large beaker filled with ice. The table was covered with a deep blue tablecloth and set with white china and silverware. Sliced bread, a tray of oysters on ice, a delicious looking salad, an impeccably gorgeous filet mignon roast, and a bowl of sautéed peas and fennel were set out between the two place settings.

Molly stared, her jaw dropped.

“What…Sherlock, what is this?” she stuttered.

He simply pointed to the bowl of peas and fennel.

“Homemade this time. All of it,” he explained to her, reaching for a box of matches and striking one to light the candles on the table.

“What?” she said, feeling light headed all of a sudden.

“I wasn’t sure there was a better way to apologize for what happened, this seemed to be working well so far.”

Molly gaped at him.

“What?”

Sherlock shook the match until it billowed smoke and set it in the sink before he finally stopped moving, his hands gripping the edges of the counter.

“It’s my fault,” he said quietly. “What happened to you. I should have protected your name when it came to the evidence that linked him to the crimes.”

“I - ”

“This isn’t enough to make it up to you. But I didn’t know where else to start.”

“Sherlock,” Molly said, finally able to get her feet to start moving and carry her towards him. “I’ve been the pathologist listed for dozens of criminal investigations. This was a fluke, it could have happened with anyone. You don’t owe me an apology.”

“I do, I owe you a thousand apologies,” Sherlock said emphatically, turning to face her, his hands landing on his hips. “For this, for everything I’ve ever done to you in the past that made you upset, and I don’t know why I thought a _bowl of peas_ would be enough, it’s not.”

“It’s enough,” Molly reassured him gently, reaching out to run her hand along his arm, coaxing his fingers out of a fist and interlacing them with hers. She glanced at the table. “You did all of this…for me. I…thank you.”

Sherlock stared at her, his eyes locked steadily with hers. His grip on her hand didn’t relent.

Molly only had time to gasp slightly as he suddenly moved forward, his free hand cradling her face as his lips descended on hers. Oh…oh my oh my oh my, what was he doing? When he tried to pull her closer, her eyes snapped open and she pressed a hand against his chest, forcing some space between them.

“Wha – what are…Sherlock, why?” she stammered.

“Trying to find another way to start apologizing,” he said, though it sounded more like a question. His head cocked to the side. “Not good?”

Molly shook her head.

“I don’t, I don’t want you to kiss me because you’re sorry,” she told him.

Sherlock nodded once, his mouth drawing into a thin line. He glanced away for a moment, thinking, before looking back at her.

“If I…kissed you because I wanted to? Because it made me…happy?” he ventured.

Molly smiled up at him, her fingers relaxing against the fabric of his shirt.

“That would be very good,” she told him.

“Excellent. It’s a much better ritual than peas, anyway,” he said, smiling down at her before pulling her close again, his mouth gently meeting hers.

 


End file.
